He depends on the sky, like the mariner, and spreads his canvas and shapes his course by the clouds.

He must note their varying form and drift; the height and thickness and hue; whether there is a dew in the evenings; whether the distant hills are clearly defined or misty; and what the sunset portends.
From the signs of the sunset he learns, like the antique Roman husbandman-- 'When the south projects a stormy day, And when the clearing north will puff the clouds away.' According as the interpretation of the signs be favourable, adverse, or doubtful, so he gives his orders.
This afternoon, as he stands leaning on the prong, he marks the soft air which seems itself to be heated, and renders the shade, if you seek it for coolness, as sultry as the open field.

The flies are numerous and busy--the horses can barely stand still, and nod their heads to shake them off.

The hills seem near, and the trees on the summit are distinctly visible.

Such noises as are heard seem exaggerated and hollow.